


Otherworld

by thechaoscryptid



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Forest Spirit Keith, M/M, Magic, Mutual Pining, Wedding, human shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:36:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21930475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechaoscryptid/pseuds/thechaoscryptid
Summary: “Have we met?” Keith asks, voice full of gravel and the thickness of the air around them. His eyes roam over Shiro’s face, as though he’s memorizing every inch, and Shiro is entranced by the spots on his skin that seem to shift with every passing second.There’s plenty of things he could say. He should start small, say, with Keith’s name. Maybe an "I missed you." "What have you been doing out here alone," even, but Shiro can’t grasp at any words other than the question that’s overtaken every other goal he’s worked toward.“Will you marry me?”
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 81
Collections: Sheith Reverse Big Bang 2019





	Otherworld

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks ArdentKnight for the [comic](https://ardentknight.tumblr.com/post/189848354992/my-faerie-au-for-the-sheithreversebb-wedding) that inspired this!

In the forest on the mountain overlooking Altea, there is a fence. It is not a normal fence, made of chain link or planks, but then again, this forest has never been a normal forest. _Don’t go in there,_ the townsfolk whisper. _That holds back all manner of ghosts, ghouls, and gremlins._

It’s a tall fence, reaching to the sky with long vines and enormous leaves, so big they seem impossible. Dim light filters down through the branches of trees that are too large for their own good and illuminates it, helps it grow.

 _It’s like something out of a fairytale,_ people tell Shiro, _as though some old hag is trying to lure you in. Never go there,_ they say, but the forest on the mountain calls to Shiro like nothing has in his whole life. He can’t say it’s been a long one--his fifth year finds him in a new house in a new town, just down the street from the Holts and kitty corner from Allura.

Six finds him in first grade, struggling to fit in.

Seven is spent the same, and at eight years old, the call is too strong to resist. The way the wind whispers through the trees beckons him come closer, _deeper._ It whispers that the wood is home and that wrapped in its embrace, Shiro can find the peace he so desperately longs for.

In the town that was supposed to be the best decision for their family, Shiro has found few things but frustration and the occasional stellar play date. He especially enjoys playing astronauts with Matt, but what _really_ makes the game is the way he sneaks out to wrap his arms around the oak in the backyard at night. The very air around him sings of the stars, the trees.

Of _magic._

The children who don’t understand tease him about it. _There’s nothing out there but trees and deer,_ they sneer. _Go out and look, huh? Maybe you won’t be such a_ loser _when you get back._

One freezing October night, at ten years old, Shiro takes their words into consideration and goes.

He isn’t afraid as he pulls on his jacket and searches for his flashlight. He’s not afraid of the way shadows creep to tangle with his, as though they’re alive. He’s not afraid of what his parents are sure to say, to do, when he comes back in the morning--this isn’t, after all, a midnight run to the backyard.

Shiro is not afraid of the voice that guides him forward.

He cuts a path through the swirling mist at the base of the mountain, bound and determined to show everyone once and for all he’s not a coward. The trees seem to part for him, creating an easy path for him on his way deeper. Owls hoot from their perches and he waves, hoping one will perhaps turn out to be whatever presence he feels so strongly in the air. 

When he reaches a point where he no longer recognizes things from hikes with his family, he continues on. As the unfamiliarity begins to send shivers down his spine, he comes across that fence, stretching as far as the eye can see. The vines and leaves catch at his arms as he pushes through, as though trying to keep him from whatever lies beyond.

_Power._

_Secrecy._

_Strength._

The ground below, the canopy above, every whisper carried on the breeze--everything thrums with an inexplicable energy and as his flashlight flickers out, the shivers turn into tendrils of fear twining around his spine. He’s not about to be called afraid again, however, and swallows his fear before continuing. His palms scrape against rough trunks, feet slipping on wet, mossy rocks until he falls face first into the dirt.

It’s freezing, as is the gaze he swears is prickling against his neck.

Shiro sniffles and fumbles for his flashlight, unable to find it before he turns back the way he came. It’s far enough out, he rationalizes. To his knowledge, no one’s ever gone past the vine fence. They’re all too scared of what’s on this side, which is…

A low growling coming from alongside him as he begins to run. His legs go fast as they can, chest heaving as he realizes his best still isn’t enough to outrun the flashes of purple-silver in the moonlight, the body that slams into him and _snarls_ that he’s the first fresh meat they’ve had in ages. 

It’s not enough to save him from being savaged from a lupine creature that seems more animal than man, scarred and emaciated as it circles around him. 

He lays there, bruised, broken, and bleeding as he takes one final look at the moon through the trees, arm missing and the rest of his body too wounded to even consider moving. There’s no way home and he regrets this night, regrets how he didn’t even leave a note to tell his parents he’d be safe.

Shiro drifts in the space between life and death, cradled on the mossy slopes of Altea’s mountain, unable to scream, though he should be doing nothing but. He drifts until he’s pulled back to the real world, a haze of pain and blood only slightly broken by warm arms and the scent of a forest on a summer day.

He wakes later to the sight of a man made from the forest itself, and then falling back asleep when violet eyes he _swears_ are the size of the moon blink at him.

**

Shiro remembers the kindness he was shown by the reigning spirit who, when asked his name, told Shiro it was too complicated for a human tongue to pronounce. He remembers asking what he should call it, and remembers the dry, rasping chuckle when the spirit told him to pick out a name.

 _Keith,_ he’d said, because that was easy to remember through his recovery.

Shiro remembers Keith, even when he’s turned out of the forest with orders to go home and live the life Keith believes he can. He remembers the visits with doctors and therapists who never stopped to consider that a child could possibly be _right_ about the circumstances around his “kidnapping.” He remembers the whispers and jeers until his parents decided enough was enough, and what he remembers most is the way a part of that spirit seemed to be channeled through the wood of the arm Keith had fashioned for him, out of the wood of his home tree.

The way that spirit faded with every mile they drove away from Altea.

Today, his truck roars to life after he’s made his last stop in Arus to gear up for the trek back into the forest. People have told him he shouldn’t, that he’s not ready, but he needs to know. Thirteen years of dreaming can’t be wrong--at least, he hopes not. 

The familiar curve of the road in make his chest ache in only the way coming home can. It’s as though his heart’s expanding, threatening to break through his ribcage with the force of his feelings for what’s surrounding him. He’s missed this--missed the way it feels to be blanketed in a green so thick it seeps into every pore and leaves him feeling so incredibly light he’s afraid he’ll disappear from this plane entirely. 

He doesn’t turn on the radio, just content to bask in the barely audible sound of leaves rustling over the sound of his engine. There’s the occasional bird cry, but other than that, it’s as though the world’s slowed to a halt. After a time the gravel on the road turns to dirt, and Shiro finds himself humming along with the song woven into the very fabric of the forest.

It’s quieter in the part of the forest he’s going to, he knows. Everything is muted by thick blankets of moss, absorbed into the dark bark of the trees that surround one’s every move, and all you can hear is your heartbeat, the breath in your lungs, and the swish of your hair.

 _That_ quiet is a sort he hasn’t found in any other forest. 

The air is lit up in green and gold, shimmering through the leaves and washing everything in an easy peace. His arm feels _electric,_ sparking through him and pushing anticipation into every fiber of his being. He laughs at the sheer joy of it. It’s close to the energy of an oncoming storm, the electricity that sets your hair on edge, but there’s not a cloud in the sky to show that a storm might be on the horizon.

Everything narrows to a single point ahead of him as he lets himself be enveloped in it the embrace of home. The smell drifts through the windows on his truck, rich and earthy. It’s not a new scent. He’s been in plenty enough forests for it to be _strange,_ but none have smelled quite so sweet. It’s haunted him along with the memory of purple fur and leafy hair, and he’s never been able to replicate it. It’s _addicting,_ and the whole time he’s been away, he’s wanted nothing more than to bottle it and keep it to himself for the comfort that comes along with these ancient trees.

He does think it odd that no matter how much he misses Altea, he’s rarely homesick for the town itself. It’s the presence that he’s vowed to make his.

_Keith._

Shiro is homesick for Keith and the forest he presides over, for the fence supposed to keep everyone out, for the hollowed tree he spent the winter in before Keith released him.

No, released isn't right. Keith had _insisted_ Shiro go back one he was healed, and Shiro’s soul has never felt whole since the day he left the forest and Altea itself behind.

He shakes his head as he parks, arm twitching where it’s resting on the wheel. _A modern marvel,_ everyone called it to his face, but he knew what they said behind his back. _It has to be magic, darkness._

 _Witchcraft,_ he’d heard one person whisper, disgust deep in their voice as they’d looked down their nose at him.

Shiro misses that magic surrounding him.

There’s “keep out” signs along with a chain-link fence, presumably put up after Shiro had admitted he was up on the mountain for the five months he was gone. He wonders how many people have been cut off from the same sense of wonder now that it’s up, but then remembers it’s not as though many people wanted to wander outside of Altea’s borders in the first place.

The door of his truck slams loud, the sound swallowed by the moss-covered boulders edging the clearing. His arm twitches again, as though leading him toward the greenery, and he takes a minute before unpacking his gear to sink his fingers--both wood and flesh--into the thick carpet covering everything. It releases more of that effervescent scent he’s longed for and he finds himself giddy with it, unable to keep the smile from his face as he inhales deeply.

It smells like Keith.

After he’s had his fill, he meanders back to the truck, pulls out the note from the glove compartment (just in case someone happens to find his truck abandoned), and holds the ring box gently in his hands with a soft smile. He’s not sure how open Keith will be to the idea, if the spirits even have the idea of marriage, but he’s bound and determined to show that he’s _worthy._

That Keith’s been everything to him over these long thirteen years.

He stuffs the box in his pocket and hefts his backpack onto his shoulder, making sure his boots are tied tight before he begins forward. The fence is no object--he’s made his way over much rougher terrain, and he snorts when he realizes the town hasn’t put much effort into erecting it _properly._

Shiro recognizes he has high hopes for this trip. It’s been thirteen years in the making, after all, and he only hopes that everything he’s been building toward will be recognized under the lush canopy. He hopes to show the man he left behind that both he and this place matter more than anything.

He hopes Keith remembers him, and that he hasn’t faded away like time itself seems to deep within the forest’s boundaries.

Shiro dreams of him sometimes. Most of the time. Everyone said it was impossible, there was no way a man lived among trees and beasts and had the ability to heal Shiro so completely. Through it all, he held tight to the knowledge that there was one not of this world waiting for him. No one believed him, but in his heart of hearts, he knows Keith exists still.

Dim light filters down through craggy, mossy branches as Shiro wanders over roots and around trunks. His boots swish through the dead and dying leaves on the ground as he goes, basking in the peace that washes over him in waves. Rushing brooks sound distantly, the melt from the top of the mountain forming crystalline springs he’d run through while being chased through the night. 

Breath catches in his chest at the memory of splashing through the freezing water, how it hadn’t done anything to keep the Galra off his tail. He stumbles and stops, clutching at his wooden arm as he whines softly.

He did not come here to fight with the decisions of his past.

He can’t let himself fall back into that darkness.

Those memories erode the strength he’s cultivated from them, eating away at the very base of it until he’s left gasping and tangled in the sheets in the middle of the night from trying to run again. They press on his chest just as the Galra’s fetid paw had, heavy and overbearing as he remembers the pain of being left alone.

He shivers, running a hand through his hair to ground himself before pushing forward again. The deer path cutting through the trees he’s following leads him further in, twisting and winding upward until he finds himself standing in the shadow of a veritable wall of vegetation, a knotted tangle of branches and brambles reaching to the sky.

This is not the fence of green he remembers. That was also something that seemed to burst out of the forest floor itself, but had been easy enough to part with his hands. This...this screams _keep out,_ and when he lays his hands on it, he’s nearly knocked backwards with the force of _aching_ poured into the branches.

It feels as though his chest has been punched clear through, his body stunned into stillness as his fingers wrap around vines. He gasps with the sheer amount of energy coursing through him, channeled by his wooden arm into his very soul until he breaks the connection, chest heaving as he steps back.

“Keith?” he whispers, and the word is whisked away on the wind. “Oh, Keith, what happened to you?”

The weight of the world rests on his shoulders as he tears through the foliage. Aching, upset, and a poignant _need_ weigh heavy on his heart, absorbed into his very being, and he knows without a doubt that it’s the weight of what Keith’s poured into keeping the world away. “Keith!” he shouts, voice trembling. “Keith, I’m here! I came back.” 

Quiet surrounds him, the same he remembers so clearly as his voice is swallowed by his surroundings. His brow knits as he reaches out to the forest with his mind, pleading with the energies that be to send Keith back to him. It _hurts,_ knowing that Keith has been longing all this time, and all Shiro wants to do is soothe that pain away. He whirls around, spreading his arms and baring his chest.

“I’m _here!”_

The world around him seems to come to a crescendo--the electricity in the air lifts the hair on the back of his neck, the wind whipping through the leaves rising to a low whine before it all falls away to the sight of a familiar face appearing in the old, knotted oak in front of him. It could very well be a trick of the light, but Shiro’s feet carry him forward without his permission. His arm reaches toward the presence before suddenly, the ground’s rushing up to meet him as his boot catches on a wayward root. Just before his head hits the the trunk, he’s gathered in arms as strong as he remembers and cradled under the green. 

When he opens his eyes, takes his hands from his face, he finds himself staring at the same face he’s been dreaming of for thirteen years. There’s a fluid grace in the way Keith stands with Shiro in his arms, as though he’s dancing like autumn leaves on the wind. Sunlight dapples on his hair through the leaves, lighting him up gold, and Shiro’s breath hitches in his chest when Keith pins him with a gaze the same color as the violets he’d noticed in the ditches on the way in.

Shiro aches with the want to untangle the leaves from his hair, smooth away the worried furrow between his brow. He watches as Keith’s ears twitch, fair and pointed, then lay flat against his head. His heart nearly stops when he speaks.

“Have we met?” Keith asks, voice full of gravel and the thickness of the air around them. His eyes roam over Shiro’s face, as though he’s memorizing every inch, and Shiro is entranced by the spots on his skin that seem to shift with every passing second.

There’s plenty of things he could say. He _should_ start small, say, with Keith’s name. Maybe an _I missed you. What have you been doing out here alone,_ even, but Shiro can’t grasp at any words other than the question that’s overtaken every other goal he’s worked toward. 

“Will you marry me?”

******

In the forest on the mountain overlooking Altea, time is immaterial. A spirit has existed since the beginning, and will continue until the end. It’s continued through fire and famine and the failure to keep the pinpricks of light in its earthbound eternity within its bounds. It stirs for the first time in ages as it feels something familiar sparking at the edge of its territory.

The tree in which it’s made its home groans as a wind stirs through the forest, washing against the outer edges of its territory until it worms its way through the barrier the spirit’s kept erected to stop the wider world from disturbing its home. If you ask, it might tell you it’s to keep the magic contained.

If you ask again, kindly and with an offering, the spirit will tell you it’s because he’s given part of himself away, and has shut himself away ever since he lost contact with the young human he surrendered it to.

Before Shiro, humans didn’t bother to breach the fragile barrier he’d erected to keep them from wandering into a place they had no business being. It kept, and continues to keep, both the magic and Galra scourge contained, keeps both from bleeding out into the burgeoning settlement at the base of the mountain.

He’s never been one to doom something for the simple reason of _easier._

The vines and branches spring from the ground at his bidding, holding steady against storm and snow before they being broken during a period in which the spirit rests. He’s stirred to action by blood soaking into the ground, and _screaming._

Such dreadful screaming.

He finds a boy on the ground, with wide eyes and black hair and pale enough he worries that whatever he can do will not be enough. He takes the child back to a tree as old as the mountain itself, a hollow formed over time and through the spirit’s careful cultivation. Moss springs up at his bidding, a makeshift bed for him to lay the boy down as he attempts to keep the thin pulse fluttering in his neck.

The amount of energy it takes to heal him is unreal. The boy lays there, breath rasping, as the spirit pours himself and even the forest around him into the vicious wounds on the boy’s legs, his chest, his face. The arm, however…

He can do a lot, but he cannot regrow a limb. 

When there is little danger of the young human slipping to the other side, the spirit makes sure he’s fast asleep before covering himself in armor and going on his first hunt in what sees like forever. Cries of dying Galra had echo down the mountain, and the spirit can’t find it in himself to care it’s likely terrifying to the townsfolk.

Part of him thinks they _should_ be terrified, but they do not know. The humans don’t know of the way the Galra packs roamed in and decided that Keith’s domain was _theirs,_ and they don’t know that because Keith was once weak, he’d let them stay, because he wanted something more.

They’d abused his territory, and his kindness in turn.

Their blood stains the moss, and the ones that flee do so with whining yelps when they see him coming. He could accept a few of his animals passing in order to sate them. He could even accept more than a few, as long as the Galra stayed on _this_ side of the barrier. With a stretch, he’d even accepted catching one just outside as it gnawed on the corpse of someone who’d wandered too far in wintertime.

He cannot accept hurting an innocent soul, and as he chases the remainder from his forest, he smiles, because his... _friend_...a strange thing...is safe. 

Their winter together is spent whiling away the hours as the spirit’s attentions are slowly captured by this creature, the way he bounces back from what he’s endured. In the hours the boy sleeps, Keith (a name he finds amusing, if nothing else) coaxes the tree into giving up part of itself. He fashions a replacement for Keith’s arm as an apology he did not protect him like he should have, and he assures it will function by pouring part of himself into the wood.

It takes to Shiro effortlessly, Keith’s spirit and the tree’s magic accepted by Shiro’s body until wood knots with skin, grounding the limb firmly.

“Try it,” he urges, watching with joy as each finger flexes as though it’s flesh and blood. It’s no surprise--both he and the forest have long since accepted Shiro as their own, and when Keith realizes it’s growing time for Shiro to go back to _his_ world, it seems Shiro has taken to the forest just as much.

The forest that, however beautiful, is no place for a child to grow.

Keith sends him down the mountain with a storm on his heels, born of Keith’s sorrow and loneliness. He finds he can still reach out to Shiro through the part of himself that went with, but as time wears on, the connective spark weakens until it’s distant as the stars above, and Keith settles back into the earth to mourn.

Seasons come and go, none of them capturing Keith’s attentions. He thinks it’s unlikely anything will after the boy, until he feels a gentle ripple emanating from the very edge of his domain. It’s a subtle shift in the energy he’s become accustomed to, the easy quiet that reigns, broken only by the cry of a bird or the whisper of hooves over leaves. He’s not sure how long it’s been since the last time, because everything blurs without another presence to remind him of something other than green, growth.

As Keith wakes, he realizes the feeling is familiar.

_Comforting._

An arm bursts from a trunk as his body knits itself from the wood of the tree, falling to the ground below when he’s finished. His pointed ears twitch in the gentle breeze and he presses his hands into the ground, melding with moss and root as he lets his consciousness unfurl to blanket the forest, seeking out the epicenter of the feeling.

He finds it settled on a gravel road that cuts through the forest, one unused since the Alteans figured out there were worse things than just bugs and dirt amidst the trees. His chest expands as he draw in a breath, letting the distant warmth of a friend’s presence soothe across his aching soul before his eyes snap open.

_No._

He _swore--_ never again would he put himself in a position of being hurt. Never again would he seek out something that’s only bound to bring him trouble in the end.

A sparrow lights on his finger, spreading its wings amidst a pool of light that hits the floor. Its claws prick sharply as it sinks deeper with a contented ruffle of feathers. He’s missed this, at least, the feeling of being _surrounded by_ instead of _being part of_ the forest. Keith’s pleased rumble spreads through the wood, and the bird looks around in confusion before pecking at him and flying away, leaving him alone to bask in the light.

He doesn’t realize how long he’s taken until the ground beneath him trembles, his head fuzzing with the force with which Shiro tears at the barrier.

Keith reaches forward for a split second before curling his arm to his chest, unwilling to put himself in harm’s way again for the simple reason of _wanting._ He’d put it up for a reason, after all, and though the Galra are gone, he worries about the bleed of magic into the areas around.

He worries about himself.

The animals are restless around him, milling as the air crackles with magic. Keith feels the longing, the wanting in Shiro as he takes hold of the vines barring his way, and then he’s nearly knocked back into the tree as he feels his _own_ presence striving to return. His feet carry him forward until he reaches the barrier, fading into a tree as he watches a familiar scar peek through the green.

Shiro is _beautiful_ as he breaks through the wall cutting off the rest of the world

Keith could do without the panic in his eyes, the frantic way his head swings back and forth, but he finds himself unable say, _do_ anything. He’s rooted to the tree and as Shiro raises the hand Keith so carefully sculpted for him, he _wants._

He wants, but he keeps his carefully cultivated facade of coldness in place as he wonders if Shiro remembers him.

When Shiro asks his question, Keith’s world grinds to a halt. He’s never been one to bother counting the seconds, minutes, hours, but everything fades to the sound of _marry me_ carried away on the breeze. He stiffens, unsure as his arms tremble under Shiro’s weight, and Shiro’s eyes go wide when he realizes what he’s said with absolutely no preamble.

He scrambles out of Keith’s arms, muttering apologies and asking forgiveness as he stands. He’s much larger than Keith remembers, built strong as the trees themselves, and Keith feels heat rising in his chest as he looks at the way Shiro’s grown into the arm. Shiro’s voice registers, but his words don’t, and there quickly comes a point where silence falls between them.

“Keith?” Shiro’s gaze is expectant, waiting, and Keith can’t find it in himself to decipher what the question was as time stretches into an eternity between them. “Do you really not remember me?”  
Keith’s limbs tremble like an aspen in the breeze as he’s rattled by the question. He is a part of Shiro--how could he not remember? How could Shiro _possibly_ not remember whose presence he carries? 

“I…”

Words are difficult, torn from his throat for the first time in so long. There’s no reason to speak here, no need, because the forest he controls needs no words. It _knows_ him, and what he wishes, the forest will do.

“I...remember.”

Shiro’s smile is bright as the sun above, splitting his face so wide Keith thinks it must hurt. “You remember,” he whispers, and reaches for Keith.

Keith pulls away before Shiro can get there, mind racing. He shouldn’t have woken. He should have ignored the presence, ignored the way Shiro’s soul called to his, because Keith finds himself unable to look away from the strong chest and broad shoulders in front of him. 

Shiro’s so _different_ now.

Shiro wants to bind himself to Keith.

He takes a step back, head shaking as his hands curl over his chest before he turns tail and runs. The tree accepts him with no hesitation and his spirit races from root to root until he’s far enough away to pop out and lean against another tree, chest constricting.

_I remember._

_I always have._

_I always will._

******

Shiro’s world darkens when Keith disappears. He’d had light incarnate in his palms, everything complete and perfect as he’d imagine, and then there was nothing. He supposes what people say about him is true--he loves with an unusual intensity, and he kicks himself for being so stupid as to actually think an immortal being would drop everything just to be with him.

His foot scuffs at the root he tripped over. “Moron,” he sighs, letting the sound drift through the hands covering his face and to the sky above. “You could’ve said _anything.”_

He knows what others would say, all variations on what he’s thinking himself, and he thinks that maybe it’s a _good_ thing Keith fled. It gives him time to think and reflect as he’s back in the place that’s haunted him for thirteen years.

Shiro wanders back to the fence, sticking his hand through the same energy barrier--less upset and more... _contemplative,_ he notices--to drag his pack through. He sits with his head pillowed on his knees as he considers. He’s misstepped before, that’s nothing new. He can fix this.

He just needs to figure out how.

When he _stops_ considering it’s nearing sunset, and he rests easy in the tent he pitches under the thick carpet of leaves above him. He wakes and wanders the next day, the next, and the next, and by the fifth day, he’s beginning to run low on the food he’s brought. Now that he knows Keith is in fact real, however, he makes the decision his parents never could.

Shiro makes his way back to Altea. 

The first thing he notices about the town is that very little has changed. In the shadow of the mountain, the town still retains its rustic charm, as though frozen in time. Kind-eyed people wander the streets, waving to him in his truck as he rides down the main road. He doubts anyone realizes who he is--it’s been thirteen years since he’s been here, and in those thirteen years he’s grown from a boy into a man. 

He's the one who's changed.

He smiles and waves back to his old neighbor, Alfor, as he drives past the house he’s sure his parents would rather forget. Wooden fingers flex on the steering wheel as he rounds the corner onto a side street. The houses here are painted cheery colors. Blue, yellow, and green flash by, and he’s glad that that hasn’t changed. Moving out of town had meant losing this feeling, the sensation of being so intimately _part of_ a place you never wanted to leave.

He cuts the engine as he pulls into Juniberry Cafe, sitting in silence for a moment as he breathes deep the smell of fresh-baked pastries. He’s missed that, too--few things in the places he’s wandered to over his years have smelled even half as good as one of Allura’s pies fresh out of the oven. Customers chat over coffee served in the same white mugs as always, never acknowledging the world outside their little slice of heaven.

“Well,” he says softly. “I suppose it’s about time.” 

ATVs and bicycles line the side of the cafe, reminding him of the little black bike he used to ride that made him feel like he was king of the world. That had been a very different time in his life, one of wholehearted devotion to the world outside instead of one tainted with fear of the unknown.

Shiro doubts Altea could ever feel unknown again, not when he knows what lies just beyond.

Coran’s kept the same bell on the door as he's always had, and it jingles merrily to announce his arrival. From behind the counter comes a loud cry of “Welcome!” before a red--albeit greying red--head pops up, its moustache meticulously combed and twitching as its owner’s lips purse in thought. “You,” the man says, pointing at Shiro and narrowing his eyes. “You’re new.”

“Well, actually, I’m, um--” Shiro rubs at the nape of his neck with his flesh hand and looks over at Coran from behind his lashes. “I’m actually sort of returning.”

“Returning?”

“I was about yay high when I was here last. Little kid with the same hair.” Shiro gestures to just above stomach level, and nods as he watches Coran’s eyes widen in recognition. “Hey, Coran.”

“SHIRO!” 

The chatter and all activity in the place ceases. Shiro chuckles uncomfortably, his wooden hand still buried in his pocket as he waves to the collective. There’s a hush as everyone breathes in at the same time, seeming to steal all oxygen from the room, and then chaos erupts. Shiro’s surrounded by people he either doesn’t remember or hasn’t seen in what seems like forever, and then he spies Coran making his way through the throng of questioning townsfolk.

“Move, move, get out of the way,” he says. “Coming through. It’s been a while, Number One! Has to be ten years now, or something like that, hmm?” 

“Little longer than that,” Shiro says. He holds up his hand as an apology as Coran bundles him through the crowd and into the back room, then up the stairs to the small apartment above the cafe. Shiro remembers it well--he spent plenty of time here after school, doing homework with Allura when his parents were busy with work and needed somewhere to put him for a few hours.

Coran seems to remember. He pulls out the chair Shiro always sat at, patting the table before insisting Shiro sit. “I’ll go make sure they’re all right without me, and then we’re having a chat about why you haven’t been back to visit,” Coran says. “Stay there and don’t run away again.”

“I won’t, I promise,” Shiro says with a quiet grin. He nods toward the door. “I think I’ll be here for a while."

Minutes later, Allura’s squeal of his name is no less fond than Coran’s, but just as loud in the confines of the apartment. “Oh, I’ve missed you!” Her embrace is crushing as she pulls him up out of the chair, Coran watching from where he’s leaned against the door. “Where’ve you been these years?”

“You and I are friends on Facebook, you’ve seen all about my travels,” Shiro says, extricating himself and allowing her to grab his hand excitedly as she sits across the table. “Here and there. You know, living. Traveling.”

“And yet never here,” Coran says with a gleam in his eye.

“Well…”

“I’m sure _this_ forest carries some memories, Coran. Isn’t that right, Shiro?” Allura says. 

“Nah, I just came back for the pie,” Shiro teases, hoping he masks the flash of pain across his face. “I could’ve _sworn_ there was somewhere around here that sold the best ones in the world. But I might be misremembering--it _has_ been almost forever, after all.”

“You wound me, Number One,” Coran says dramatically. “Our goods weren’t enough to make an everlasting impression on you. A grave sin.”

“I’m sure I could be persuaded to remember if you let me buy a piece,” Shiro says. “Have any juniberry?”

Coran waves the statement away. “Nonsense. You’re finally back wandering our streets. I say that calls for a free slice, at least. Didn’t you pull some out earlier, Allura?”

She nods eagerly as she gets to her feet. “I’ll go grab one. Ice cream?”

“Please,” Shiro says.

“Back in a tick.”

Shiro watches her impossibly long hair trail behind her as she flies out the door, and it’s Coran’s hand waving in front of his face that breaks the spell. “So what brings you back to Altea? Missed the old place?” He lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Did you meet someone?”

 _That’s_ a bit closer to the truth than Shiro would like to admit, and he huffs a laugh. “I missed it,” he says instead, thumbing out the window to where the mists swirl over the mountain peak and down between the massive trees at its base. “I, ah, figured it was about time to face things, too. See if he was real.”

There's no reason to discuss that he'd been too much of a coward to face the actual town beforehand, afraid they'd only laugh at his plan and his past.

“Oh,” Coran says, and to Shiro’s surprise, leaves it mostly at that. His thumbs twirl around themselves in his lap as he considers. “Is there...any reason? I think that’s very brave of you.”

“Gotta do it sometime,” Shiro says. “Besides, there's beauty there that nothing hiding could compare to. And I’ve had plenty of hiking practice since then.” A thrill runs through him, singing from the tips of his wooden fingers and up the arm until it reaches his spine to make him shiver. It feels almost like Keith's...reaching out _,_ and Shiro gives Coran a grin. “I’ll take it slow. I'm actually thinking about renting a place. I'm sure it'll be a while before I get in there fully, I promise," he lies.

“What are we promising?” Allura asks, blowing a stray hair from her face as she walks through the door carrying a beautiful pie. When the slight tension hits her, she pauses. “Guys?”

“I’m here to find Keith,” Shiro says, breaking Coran’s gaze. “And I’m not leaving until we at least...get to know each other.”

******

Keith is only a little ashamed of the way he hides. He sinks himself into the roots of an old oak as he allows his consciousness to spread into the surrounding woods. He can feel Shiro at the edge of his reach, a bright spark lighting the night better than any moon. There's a reason he doesn't rise to consciousness during the night, he thinks, because the moon brings back more memories, memories of blood and gnashing teeth as he took care of the Galra for Shiro's sake.

Moon and memory tangle under the light of the stars and as Keith eases up the trunk and into a branch, popping out to perch delicately as he shuts his eyes and drinks deep the silver light. It truly does feel good, being corporeal again. Years of solitude and existing as nothing and yet everything all at once have stolen his joy, and he's forgotten exactly how pleasant the breeze feels as it tickles his ears, caresses the curve of his spine, wraps around his legs as though whispering _walk with me._

Because this is _his_ home, _his_ forest, he listens. He lights silently on the ground below, fingers brushing against the trunks of trees he still hasn't forgotten the names of. Every one is part of him, and he is part of every one, and thus the balance between their worlds maintained.

He walks and wanders through the night, telling himself he's not getting closer to Altea because Shiro's soul is calling to him. It's because that's the simple way to go, he says. It's easy, it's a clear path, he says, but deep down, some base part of him realizes that all he really wants out of tonight is to be blessed by that wide smile and run his fingers over the wood of his home, the same wood that binds him to Shiro.

Keith should be glad Shiro's found his way back, because it is the first time in forever he feels as though he's whole. As his soul belongs to the forest, part of the forest belongs to Shiro, and therefore part of Keith belongs to Shiro. He finds himself staring at the twinkling lights of Altea down below and wondering if Shiro will return, or if he'll run like Keith.

He hopes it's the latter--they owe each other answers, after all.

******

“Holy shit, _Shiro?”_ The man walking in the door when Shiro, Coran, and Allura finally make it back downstairs after discussing potential lodging options stops short, jaw dropping open as Shiro gives him a small wave. _“The_ Shiro? What have we done to deserve your presence?”

“The one and only,” Shiro says, chuckling. “Prodigal son come back to face his past. Hey, Matt.”

Matt breaks his trance and rockets forward, tossing his arms around Shiro and tucking him into a hug. “It’s been a while! What was it, Phoenix, four or five years ago? I’ve missed you, man. You should’ve told me you were coming. I would’ve made you a bed!”

Coran and Allura exchange a glance.

“Or...not?” Matt says. “Are you not staying for a while?”

“Actually--” Shiro rubs at the back of his neck, ducking his head. “Sorta just need a place to crash between times I go back up there.” He jerks his thumb toward the mountain, and Matt sucks in a breath through his teeth. “I’ve got some unfinished business, you know?” 

“Oh,” Matt says softly. “Are you--”

“Sure? Yes, Matt,” Shiro interrupts. He smiles. “You’ve followed my outdoor adventures. I think I’m ready for this.”

“Well…” Matt puts his hands on Shiro’s shoulders, patting gently. “Just be safe, right? There’s been some really weird energy coming down since you left, like everything up there is...well, guys, sad, would you say?”

 _More than you could know,_ Shiro thinks.  
“Upset,” Allura agrees. “I don’t know _what_ it could be, but things haven’t been the same since. I think it misses you, Shiro.”

“But you should still be cautious!” Coran says. “After all, it’s not every day one comes back to face their past. Be careful not to get to upset out there, no matter what you see?”  
Shiro thinks of Keith, of the way his presence soothed away every hurt like a balm, and assures the collective he’ll be wary for any threats.

“Good,” Matt says. “Come find me when you’re done gallivanting up there? Drinks on me.”

“We could go tonight,” Shiro says. "I'm sure whatever's up there--" He shuts his eyes, breathes out slowly. "Ah, it'll still be waiting in the morning."

“That arm of yours still works well, eh?” Coran says, disrupting his thoughts as he grabs it, turning it over on the counter. _“Amazing.”_

“Yeah, Coran, still works.” Shiro picks up three wrapped muffins from the basket on the corner and tosses them in the air, concentrating on the patterns they weave through the air as he juggles. He even manages a fourth, but when Matt tosses a fifth too quickly, they fall to the dark oak as Coran shoots the younger man a look.

“I’ll get where I need to be,” he says after a few more questions, and that is what they need to hear. Coran gives him a mighty slap on the back as he wishes him well, Matt jokes about meeting a secret lover out there (again hitting too close to the rawness of Keith's abandonment, but he gets a hug and grin just the same), and Allura bundles him close before insisting he stay put while she gets him a pie for the road.

“Oh, I can’t--”

“You’re taking it,” she says, “and that’s final. I didn’t bake these fresh this morning for them to sit in the case all day. Your homecoming, however brief, deserves a celebration, and you always did like celebrating with these.”

“Like it?” Coran chuckles heartily and winks at Shiro. “I remember when you were just a boy and would come in with your parents and _beg_ for one of my pies!”

“Well, some things don’t change,” Shiro says. “They’re still amazing.” He gives one final round of hugs before accepting the wrapped bakery and accepting Matt's offer of a couch for the night--he’d rather be distracted by another person he's missed than fix his attentions on Keith and the millionth thought of how to win him back.

He will.

It'll just take time.

******

It’ll take a _long_ time, if the two months he spends hiking in, out, and all around the forest are any indication.

******

Or three.

Or four.

It’s almost five before he wakes to an overwhelming feeling of being watched. He shuffles lower under the sleeping bag as his eyes scan the outside of the tent, taking in a dark shadow just to the front. His knife is always kept by his pillow, and he grabs it, ready to unsheathe it as he moves slowly toward the door. 

"You," he breathes, knife dropping to the ground as he's transfixed by bewitching violet eyes. "Keith."

"You are distracting," Keith says. There's that same gravel, gravity in his voice, and Shiro shuts his eyes and lets it wash over him as Keith continues. "Your presence...I feel it wherever I go. You're inescapable."

"Where have you been?" Shiro asks. He holds both his hands in front of him as though Keith's a wild animal, and from the way Keith's crouched like a gremlin, he could very well be. He's eyeing Shiro like he's terrified. "That you felt me?"

"Around."

"Stayed up here on the mountain for a while, haven't you?" Shiro says softly. He looks around, running a hand through his hair as he attempts to feign casualness. He won't mess this up again, not this time. "You've kept it well for yourself."

"It is my home," Keith says.

"I know."

Keith pauses, gaze dipping to the ground as he tracks a finger along a vein in the stone. "Why did you come back?"

"Did you really forget who I was?" Shiro counters, and a pained look flickers across the spirit's face before it smooths into cool neutral again. He's struck a nerve, something about which he's both relieved and upset. Before he can stop it, his wooden arm darts to rest on Keith's knee.

Keith jerks as though he's been electrified and Shiro pulls back almost immediately, putting both hands over his mouth.

"I'm so sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to."

"Do not," Keith says, a near hiss. He quiets, then repeats it again, almost inaudible. "Do not."

"I won't, I promise," Shiro says.

"Why did you come?"

"Because this forest has been home ever since I left it thirteen years ago." Shiro has no interest in holding back, always willing to place all of his cards on the table, and now especially. He blurts it out and once it's out in the open, he screws his eyes shut as though Keith is going to disappear, because he doesn't want to see that happen again. If he can't see it, he can pretend this is all a dream and he'll wake up in Matt's spare room.

To his surprise, nimble fingers curl along the edge of his jaw, the scent of wood and greenery somehow growing exponentially as he sucks in a deep breath. Warmth blooms across his cheeks as they're caressed by hands of the forest itself, rough thumbs smoothing across them before Keith asks him to open his eyes.

"This is not your home," Keith whispers. He runs a finger along the line of Shiro's scar on his nose, then tracks it down to where wood meets flesh and drags it along the knotted seam. "You belong in the world. I belong here."

"I don't think you understand," Shiro hedges. When Keith looks at him, head cocked in confusion, Shiro begins from the moment he was turned away in the first place. He explains about the doctors and therapists, the way he's always been an outsider and how his new arm didn't do him any favors.

Keith winces again at that, but remains still in front of Shiro, elbows balanced on his thighs.

Shiro tells him about how when they left Altea behind, watching the city fade in the rearview mirror of his father's old truck, he'd felt the way Keith reached out for him, one last time. He heard it in the mournful tune of the wind as it whistled down from the mountain and felt it in the fury of the storm that saw them go.

He tells him about every year after, how, through all the trials and all the healing, he's never felt more _secure_ than when he thinks of the way he watched Keith work on his new limb, bathed in the pinks and golds of a new morning pooling on the snow.

He tells Keith that though he won't ever understand why Keith turned him away, he wants one more chance to see him before making his peace with the fact that either Keith will reject him again, or they're going to become something more than yearning.

"I didn't mean to to ask you to marry me right away," he whispers. "I don't know what I was going to say when I first saw you, to be honest. I didn't even know I'd get that far. But I wanted...I wanted..." His fingers curl on his knee and hesitantly, Keith's knuckles brush over his. Shiro smiles. "I just wanted to know you were actually real and I'm not crazy like they all said, if I'm being honest," he says around a short laugh. "And I do. And I still know I need you, desperately. I always have."

"As long as this is a part of you, you always will." Keith gestures to the dark grain of Shiro's arm, tucking a golden lip between his teeth. "Would you rather I had left it off? You would have lived a normal life."

"Nothing could ever be normal after what happened, Keith," Shiro says, "not even if I'd had a normal prosthetic. I'd always have _known._ I'd always have been longing for where we lived again."

"That place is no more."

Shiro's gut twists as a surprisingly blunt feeling of mourning sinks deep like a fist. He exhales sharply at it, instinctively curling his arms around his waist to make himself smaller as he's always done when getting bad news. "Gone?" he asks.

"There was no need for upkeep," Keith murmurs. "After..."

"After we parted ways."

"You were a child. You knew not of what y--"

"I'm not anymore." Shiro steels his gaze, catching Keith's eyes with his jaw set and fire in his eyes. "I've dedicated my life to the outdoors in the hopes that one day, just _maybe,_ I'd be able to find you again. Even another like you," he says, "but my goal ever since I left has been to come back for _you_. Even if you didn't want me--I just wanted to find you, because it's your light that kept me going through the dark years of recovery."

"I'm not that special," Keith says.

"You are to me. You always will be."

Keith wants to run. He wants to pin his ears back and dart as fast as he can through the forest, dipping under branches and leaping over fallen trees so quickly that not even the nimblest deer can keep up with him. As Shiro spills his truths, he can't find the merest hint of a lie in his eyes or the way Shiro's energy flares with passion against his.

It's terrifying to think this is a real possibility.

"Walk with me." Shiro pulls Keith to stand before Keith can protest, pulling him toward the stream bubbling in the nearby area. Keith watches from a distance as Shiro brings a handful to his face, drops falling prettily back to the ground as he wipes it off with his sleeve. "Come here," he says, a laugh evident in the words. "I won't throw you in, I promise."

"You wouldn't be able to," Keith says automatically. "I'm too quick."

"Come here anyway." Shiro smiles, beckoning him, and Keith's feet whisper over the moss as he comes to rest at Shiro's side. "Kneel with me."

Keith does, and Shiro points to where their reflections appear together in the water. "That is not unusual," Keith says, confused.

"No, but it's a nice sight," Shiro sighs contentedly. His gaze flicks to Keith first, then his whole head turns as Keith's ears flick under the weight of his eyes. "Give me a chance, at least," he says. "I want to show you how much you mean to me."

Keith means everything to Shiro, really. It sounds stupid, and he's never actually said it _out loud,_ but he does, and Shiro wants him to understand. There's no easy how-to guide on how to woo the forest itself. Part of him wishes there was, that he could capture Keith's attentions as readily as he captures others', but as Keith turns back to stare at the water, Shiro is positive the effort is worth it.

He's never been able to love anything quite like the way he loves the memories they made together over the course of those five months. _You're in love with a fantasy,_ one therapist had told him, and she wasn't wrong. 

But when fantasy bleeds into reality, blurring the lines between what's _born of_ this world and what's the _embodiment_ of this world, it becomes hard to tell what should be right.

They stand together as the sun climbs higher in the sky, both wary, both watchful, both weary of wondering what could have been.

"A chance," Keith says, sounding like leaves rustling in the wind. "How will you show me?"

"Carefully," Shiro says, inching closer until he's mere inches away from the warmth Keith radiates. "I'd take your hand and let you guide me, tell me everything I've missed, and show me how to live your life. I know I wouldn't be able to live _exactly--"_ he bites his lip. "But I could try to learn some things, at least. We could get your home back."

"I don't need one like you humans do," Keith says to the ground.

"Would you be willing to try with me?" Shiro asks softly.

Keith's answer is silent, but Shiro feels it in every inch of his body as Keith takes his wooden hand and pours himself into it. He feels the aching and the longing but the burgeoning sense of hope as well, the way it spirals through Keith and into him to stoke the fire in his chest higher.

"We have always been bound," Keith murmurs.

"I've felt it."

"I..." Keith's jaw hangs open, his ears laid back as his brow knits. "We are not the same, Shiro."

"So teach me." Shiro risks guiding Keith's face to the sun with a calloused finger, tipping it so it's lit up in the golden light of the morning. "Show me how to be like you. _With_ you."

"You would become one with the forest?"

"Keith," Shiro says, leaning his forehead to rest against the spirit's. "For you, I'd be willing to try."

******

Keith doesn't say yes to the proposal, but he does not say no. Instead, he lets Shiro take him back to the tent and show him the life he's been unable to bear witness to. With pictures and stories, Shiro paints a tale of a life so rich and full that Keith feels almost bad about wanting him to stay, but when Shiro describes the poignant ache of loneliness that's overshadowed it all, that feeling eases.

One day wears into the next and he watches every second of Shiro in sleep, each inhale and heavy exhale as he leans back against the trunk of a tree.

For the first time in forever, he doesn't feel the urge to sink into its depths to hide away from the world.

******

Shiro says yes, again and again. When Keith asks for assistance (not that he needs it) surveying damage after a storm, Shiro says yes. When Keith asks for his help in assisting with a gravely injured deer, Shiro says yes. When Keith mourns the animal's passing from wounds too great to heal, Shiro says yes when he asks for comfort, providing it with warm arms and a song hummed under the grey skies as they sit together with their sadness.

On the days he remains in Altea (constantly asked when everyone is going to meet the mysterious stranger), when Keith asks if he's coming back eventually, he says yes, because he cannot imagine spending any longer without Keith at his side.

******

When Keith takes the reins and asks Shiro to stay forever, the entire mountain sings with the force of his joy. The concept is still a bit foreign to him, if he's being honest, but when Shiro says yes, it is the most beautiful sound in the world.

Keith meets Matt and Allura on a moonlit night in the middle of September, almost two years after Shiro came back to him. Silver streams through the leaves as their feet swish through the debris on the ground, walking toward the ancient tree Shiro knows so intimately. It’s the perfect place for the world to witness their union, after all--it’s the place that brought them together. 

Allura takes to the forest as though she was born to it, nimbly darting in and around the underbrush and somehow managing not to get her hair tangled up in the brambles. Her sparkling laughter carries through the trees, and Keith finds himself wanting to laugh along. It’s silly, but the way Shiro lights up makes him feel as though perhaps sometimes _silly_ is worth it. 

Matt is an entirely different story. He’s focused almost entirely on Keith, unable to contain the curiosity that flows through him. Questions tumble from his mouth even as he trips and sends Shiro careening into Allura’s side, not stopping to apologize when he realizes that Keith’s forged on ahead without him. 

“What’s it like being immortal? Are you? Or are you just _really_ old? Hey, what about the trees, any cool stories about any of them? Or are they just trees? Or--”

Shiro turns and puts a hand over Matt’s mouth, screwing his nose up when Matt licks across his palm, and tells him he’s disturbing the poor trees with his chattering. “You might scare him off,” he says. He moves to wrap his arms around Keith’s shoulders as they continue forward. “Wouldn’t that be a shame?”

“Ah, it wouldn’t be my first time hiding from a human,” Keith murmurs. “I’d come back eventually.”

“Is this it?” Allura asks, pointing excitedly to where the craggy branches of the old oak shine in the moonlight. “It’s _beautiful!”_

“Why do you think I was so eager to get back here?” Shiro says.

“Because you had an awesome faerie frie--”

“Matt,” the rest groan in unison. 

“Yeah, all right, all right, fine,” he says, pointing between them. “But I’m getting answers sometime! You owe me for officiating this.”

“Do we?” Keith asks Shiro.

“He’s not exactly someone who _can,”_ Allura says out of the corner of her mouth, but what do the laws of men matter here?

Matt grabs a hand from each and brings them together. “Lucky for you I take payment in the form of a gaming partner every so often and the answer to if you two promise to love and care for each other for, uh--” He chuckles. “Well, eternity? Are you ready for that, Shiro?”

“I am.” 

“Keith?”

“I am his, and he is mine,” Keith says. “For all of time.”

“Objections, Allura?”

“Absolutely not,” she says, and before Matt can open his mouth, she continues with the insistence that they seal the deal with a kiss.

“That’s my line!” he protests.

It matters not to Keith. He takes Shiro’s face between his palms and rests their foreheads together, eyes wide open and searching for any trace of doubt in Shiro. When he finds none, a quiet smile breaks across his face. “You give yourself freely?”

“Always,” Shiro whispers.

“Then be with me.” Keith’s mouth ghosts against Shiro’s softly, then harder as moonlight pours over them. Magic sparks between them, heady and intoxicating, and when Shiro’s lips part below Keith’s, spills into his throat to spread into his core. “I am with you always, and your place is beside me.”

Shiro breathes heavily when they part, and rests his head on Keith’s shoulder. “Yes,” he says. “Yours.”

“Shiro?” Allura asks, laying a hand on his back. “Are you feeling all right?”

 _“God,”_ Shiro grunts. Keith watches the magic dance around his body and is halfway to worried before it stills, and Shiro slumps against him.

“Shiro?” he whispers worriedly. He feels the barely there touch of Shiro’s lashes as they twitch against his neck, but he’s soon distracted by the way a branch from the old oak bends to tap his shoulder.

“I think it worked,” Shiro says.

“Uh, Shiro?” Matt says.

“You look--” Allura begins, and Keith finishes for her.

“Beautiful.” His skin is luminous, the black in hair replaced by the color of spun moonlight, and Keith thinks he’s never been more lovely. An unintended side effect from the power transfer, to be sure, but not one he thinks he’ll ever mind. “You are beautiful to me, my love.”

“Am I?”

“I’m going to invent some sort of longevity drug just so I can take it and tell you in six or seven hundred years that you’re still as--” Matt cuts off with a groan as Allura elbows him. “I was gonna say handsome as ever,” he says. “Rude.”

“I say we leave him here and ditch,” Shiro says, lips curving against Keith’s as he leans in again. “What do you say?”

“Well,” Keith muses. “I say we have the rest of our lives. Spending one night celebrating before the rest of them might not be so bad. Let him have his fun.”

“I heard that,” Matt says.

“You were meant to,” Keith murmurs, threading his fingers through Shiro’s hair. “And you’ll have to put up with it for a while more, hmm? After all…” He peers over Shiro’s shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll be seeing more of me around. And you can teach me how to…’game.’”

“I’m fucked,” Matt groans, and both Keith and Shiro grin. “You’re lucky I like you both.”

“And they’re lucky to have found each other again,” Allura says. “Congratulations, you both.” She smiles, radiant in the silver light. “May you love each other for all your years to come.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments always read and _very_ much appreciated, and I always do my best to get back to them ❤️
> 
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